


In Need VI

by DirtyDuchess



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8328787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyDuchess/pseuds/DirtyDuchess
Summary: Joan indulges in a little retail therapy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoansGlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/gifts).



> Happy birthday JoansGlove!  
> Some Vera-free Joan filth for you my dear freak.  
> Loadsa love,  
> Duchess xx

Joan moved leisurely through the racks of understated, classic fashion in David Jones. Blacks and whites, the odd muted colour dominated. This was one of the few stores in Melbourne where Joan could be sure to find trousers in the correct length and fit, i.e. that didn't show six inches of ankle unless she intended them to, as well as fitting the waist and hips of a women as opposed to a teenage waif. Much as she delighted in the domineering advantage her height gave her, clothes shopping was admittedly an utter pain at times. Fashion designers seemed unable to grasp the actual body shapes and height differences of real women. It was still impossible to find a decent pair of trousers that fitted, looked stylish and had pockets without bespoke tailoring though. No doubt those designers assumed that all women wanted to keep their keys and money in a dainty handbag instead. 

Lack of pockets wasn't an issue for every woman though. Looking up over a rack of crisp white dress shirts her eye was caught by a familiar face. Ah, yes, one of Melbourne's finest, a police officer who'd attended Wentworth a number of times. Images of the woman's ample uniformed thighs and rear rapidly flashed before Joan’s eyes. Well, even a Governor needed some eye candy to get her through a mundane day at the office! She remembered the police utility belt hanging off the woman's broad hips, the cuffs and weapons and the pleasant daydream she'd subsequently had of how her colleague could have best utilised her equipment in the privacy of the Governor's office. The thought suddenly occurred to Joan that she hadn't attended her gun club for at least three month; a result of the many hours of overtime she'd put in at Wentworth. She knew the work would pay off when her plans for the prison were in full flow but nevertheless she made a mental note to call the club and renew her membership. 

She had no idea what the woman’s name was having only seen her a couple of times, she was, however, undeniably physically striking. Tall, muscular and with a butch stance, her long hair braided hair was tied back in a huge ponytail. The woman was dressed in civvies today, blue jeans that stretched tightly over her thighs and arse, a white ribbed t-shirt that contrasted with her dark skin and emphasised strong tattooed biceps and an ample but restrained bosum. She seemed to be with another woman – a stereotypical skinny blond no less. Her partner? Joan felt herself mentally rolling her eyes. What a waste!  
The officer caught Joan’s eye over the rack of tailored shirts and nodded, smiling briefly in recognition before turning and following the blond. Joan scrutinised the retreating broad back for a moment before her thoughts returned to the woman’s uniform. She’d always been attracted to them, the order and ritual they represented. But there was also something else she couldn’t put her finger on, something sexual, almost a code for other women like her. It had undeniably been a key factor in her choice of career. She began to daydream; paraboots, guns, gloves, rubber masks, hoods. Strong, muscular-thighed women in tight black combat pants and shirts. She wondered if the cop had a black leather police shirt like the one which hung in a certain section of her own wardrobe, that she wore just for the animal smell of the leather, for the way it chafed against her bare nipples. 

The Governor realised she was now standing in front of shelves of gloves but had no memory of getting there. The delectable scent of leather filled her nostrils and Joan realised she was aroused. And very wet. She imagined the policewoman standing behind her, a gloved hand covering her mouth, pressing her crotch into Joan’s arse, the head of her baton digging into her hip as her other hand roamed under Joan’s jacket in search of a breast, to twist a nipple that Joan now realised was painfully erect. Hurriedly glancing round to check she wasn’t being observed Joan pulled a box containing the most expensive gloves the department store sold from the shelf, randomly grabbed a shirt from a neighbouring rack and headed towards the fitting rooms.

Despite not possessing the salubrious facilities of the bespoke stores Joan usually frequented, David Jones did at least still provide thick curtains and comfortable seating in its fitting rooms. Flinging her bag, the shirt and her jacket aside and kicking off her shoes, she sank into the wide, plush armchair, hurriedly unfastening her navy trousers and pulling her grey silk blouse over her head. The feeling of her hair tickling her naked collarbone and neck was sensual and prickles of arousal spread across her chest. She ran manicured fingernails over the very tips of her nipples through the black lace of her bra; the electrifying sensation sent shockwaves straight between her parted thighs and caused her hips to surge forward. Joan manipulated her breasts in earnest now, cupping their ample flesh, pressing it and teasing her nipples through the fabric before plucking at them, hard. Her breath was coming harsh and fast now, her need to be touched intensifying with every delectable sweep of a fingertip over engorged mammary gland.

Joan slid her hands tantalisingly down her sides, caressing ribs and hips, then drew the expensive, and pleasingly damp, lace lingerie she favoured (handmade to fit her. Well, comfort and sexiness were worth paying for) down her long thighs to her knees. Fingers stroking her inner thighs now Joan teased herself, drawing out the anticipation of her pleasure as her fine hands edged ever closer to her slick vulva. She allowed a solitary fingertip to trace its length, from her swollen clit down to dip into her wetness, which was beginning to seep into her thick, dark curls. No dried up prune status for her yet, she noted triumphantly. 

Agonisingly slowly, as Joan began to circle her clit with a forefinger, she imagined the policewoman on her knees at her feet, licking her clit, deep brown eyes locked on Joan's face as she held the Governor's slippery lips apart with the strong fingers of one hand, the other mercilessly pulling on her nipples. Joan pulled the brand new gloves from their stiff cardboard box, drawing the leather over her face and inhaling before sliding them onto her hands and between her thighs. She slowly pushed several gloved fingers into her own slick cunt and imagined her horny cop fucking her alternately with thrusting, thick fingers and then her baton. As Joan lifted her legs akimbo onto the arms of the chair, her trousers and knickers fell to her ankles. She lifted her hips rhythmically to fuck herself more deeply and pressed her thumb hard into her clit. A sheen of sweat began to glisten on her forehead, flushed chest and rounded belly. 

Pulling her fingers from her wet hole with a slurp, Joan kicked off her lower garments and drew her legs under her, raising herself to her knees. Caressing one large gloved hand sensuously over her buttocks and between her cheeks she rapidly ran a questing hand between slippery inner and outer lips to gather abundant wetness, then circled and pressed her thumb into the resistant ring of arse muscle. Joan flexed muscular thighs as she pushed her arsehole onto her own thumb, groaning at the simultaneously painful and pleasurable sensation. It felt so good! She pushed three thick fingers into her sticky cunt and began to writhe, rising and falling as she watched her mirror image fuck herself, the other hand roaming inside her bra in a fresh assault on her breasts. Having such long arms came in particularly useful on occasion!

How she wished she had someone there in the flesh to bite her aching nipples though; to suckle on her hipbone. Closing her eyes again Joan imagined the policewoman climbing on top of her, fucking her with a huge strap on, invading her mouth with a thick, insistent tongue as denim chafed her sensitive skin. Joan panted, playing with her rock-hard nipples before sliding her hand back down between her legs to furiously rub her throbbing clit. Scenes sped through her mind. Her cop naked and whipping her hard, lapping eagerly from her cunt like a cat from a saucer of milk, pushing a black cock in and out of her arse.....Waves of arousal spread through her pelvis and torso, building in intensity as she moved faster and faster on her own hand, pressed ever harder, until the waves became electrifying, uncontrolled spasms and her cunt clenched out an orgasm so fierce she couldn't hold back a loud, guttural cry, despite the very public setting and risk of discovery.

Joan remained still for some time, chest heaving as she savoured the sensations still swimming through her body. She gently caressed her breasts and stomach. It had taken a long time for her to recognise and realise the capacity for pleasure her once ridiculed body possessed but now she felt replete, strong and sexy and she intended to enjoy the feeling. She dressed leisurely, looking forward to the lunch she had booked for herself in a nearby bistro. 

Opening the thick curtain Joan started slightly at the sight of the policewoman loitering in the corridor outside, seemingly waiting for the blond like some bored husband.  
“Wrong size?” she asked Joan, nodding towards the gloves in her hand, a knowing look in her warm brown eyes, the hint of a smirk on her full lips.  
“Hhmmmm, I generally prefer something in a larger size.” Joan smiled in reply, returning the now sticky, streaky gloves to the box. “Be a dear and pop them back on the shelf for me would you?” Turning with a flourish and flick of her dark mane she strode the length of the fitting room corridor, feeling the cop's gaze on her.   
“Back in a sec, love,” called the policewoman through the curtain, making a snap decision and heading for the cash desk, box in hand.


End file.
